


vacation

by dealorism



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: AU, Blowjobs, Holiday, Hotel Sex, M/M, Masturbation, Modern AU, Sex, Smut, Vacation, bottom!Roger, dealor - Freeform, in only seven days, john goes on a much needed stress relief holiday, lifeguard!roger, top!John
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-18
Updated: 2019-11-18
Packaged: 2021-02-12 15:06:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21478348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dealorism/pseuds/dealorism
Summary: the curse of being successful in the engineering industry at the age of 24 is that john rarely gets the chance to rest. when he gets the chance to, he doesn't hesitate; booking a seven-day holiday to a tropical paradise where he finds more than just relief.
Relationships: John Deacon/Roger Taylor
Comments: 7
Kudos: 36





	vacation

**Author's Note:**

> this is a modern au but i picture them as their 1975 selves! feel free to picture them however you want though, let your imaginations run wild ;)

_Monday the start of my holiday_  
_Freedom for just one week_  
_Feels good to get away_

The moment John crosses the threshold of the aircraft and steps on the flimsy rubber mat of the jet bridge, it immediately feels like a large boulder is lifted off his chest. He can finally breathe, but the air in the tunnel is stagnant and smells like rubber. The line between his brows does nothing but deepen as he speeds up, wishing to get everything done and really enjoy his little getaway as soon as possible.

The heavy steps of his vintage platform boots are attracting annoyed glances from tourists around him, but in his haste to leave he ignores their scowls and increases his speed, leaving behind echoes of his heels clicking against the floor. It is when John finally reaches the terminal only does he let out that breath. He closes his eyes for a second before continuing in a much slower pace, allowing himself to look around and search for familiar faces, something he is used to doing.

After getting his luggage and successfully ordering a taxi, he stands at the gates of the airport and lets the reality of his actions sink in. His eyes focus and unfocus on the people whizzing in and out of the building, heart suddenly beating a little quicker than usual. He really is in a different country.

John can’t remember the last time he had truly relaxed. His shoulders are stiff and he tries to roll them around to relax, but to no avail. He had always been busy - busy studying, busy working, but never busy relaxing. He didn’t sit around and do nothing to have straight A’s fall onto his lap; he had worked his ass off while studying to achieve the good grades that he got. Almost worked one of his balls off in college to get his degree with first class honours. Almost worked the remaining one off to rise to the position he held in the company that he worked in. And he had just turned 24.

Everyone told him that a vacation was what he needed, but he always refused. What if something happened when I’m not around? What if a vacation is all it takes to make me forget all the information and knowledge I spent years accumulating? But as time dragged on and his workaholic self continued to wreck his own body, even he could feel himself on the edge of crumbling into pieces. So when the company issued him a 7-day leave, he’d immediately booked a flight to a tropical island for a short but much-needed getaway.

Now that he is really here, things are starting to sink in. John teethes at his bottom lip. He is in a foreign country now, and he is all alone. His phone is cold against his thigh and his fingers itched to shoot a quick message to his parents, but he holds the urge down. He decides to let his mind go blank as he waits for his cab, which does not arrive for another 30 minutes.

When his ride finally arrives, John almost let out a prayer and drags his luggage towards the car. The driver has a sheepish smile as he helps John load his bags into the car. “You’ve been waiting for a long time?” he asks as he restarts the engine.

“No,” John answers curtly, the way he usually does. When the driver sends him a side glance with his upper lip curled slightly, John realises that he might’ve sounded rude and snobby and quickly tries to alter the impression he’s made on the first person he met in this country. “I mean, uh, I haven’t been waiting for long.” He forces out a couple of chuckles but they sound dry and scratchy even in his own ears. He cringes a little.

The driver must feel as awkward as John does. “Ah. Sorry I was late. Traffic was horrible today.”

“I see.”

“This your first time here, young man?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t talk a lot, do you?”

John sighs. He rubs at the line between his brows absently. “I’m trying to work on that.”

The driver offers him a toothy grin that somehow lifts the weight of his chest a little. “Then you’ve come to the right place, son.”

The rest of the ride is spent in comfortable silence. As they near the countryside, the driver rolls down the windows to let the air in. The wind blows at John’s face and pushes his messy curls back as he squints at the view. Compared to the grey he is used to seeing in the city, the edges of his lips curl at the constant blur of green and blue. Along with the wind in his face, he has never felt fresher.

John can tell when they are nearing the sea. The air turns saltier and the wind feels just a little stickier. Most importantly, he hears the sound of waves crashing against the beach. His eyes light up as he hears the telltale sounds of the waves and he childishly spins around his seat to get a view of the sea. He can hear a soft chuckle from his driver but before he can tone down his obvious overexcitement, the soft blue of the sea comes into view and his jaw goes slack. The evening sun lights up the waves as they travel towards the shore, making the surface of the sea sparkle like diamonds. Though the view quickly disappears once they enter the compound of the resort. His smile drops a little.

The taxi drops him off at the entrance and leaves after John pays. Not before flashing John his signature healing grin that somehow assures John that everything will be fine. With a soft smile, John enters the resort and heads to the counter to check in.

“May I have your name, please?” the pretty girl behind the counter asks with a big smile. Her name tag reads Emily.

“Deacon,” John answers. Emily is wearing bright pink lipstick and he tries not to stare at her lips for too long as she searches at the computer screen in front of her.

“Deacon. Mr John Deacon?” she asks, eyes fleeting back to him.

“Uh, yes.”

“One room for one adult, ocean view, inclusive of breakfast, lunch and dinner, for seven nights. Is that right?”

“That is right.”

“Okay then,” she hums and slides a form towards him, along with a pen. “Please sign here, and here.” John picks up the pen and scribbles his signature on the places she pointed at. “Alright, thank you. You will be staying at room three o’ nine. It’s all the way over there. Here are your key cards and meal coupons. Enjoy your stay!” Emily flashes a bright pink smile at him.

He returns it with a soft smile plus a curt nod and takes the cardboard pouch with his room number written on it before dragging all his bags to the direction he was pointed to. He booked the biggest suite he could afford that faced the beach - he was certain that he wouldn’t get sick of the ocean view. Looking at the sparkling waters as the sky slowly turns orange, he knows he’d made the right decision.

Hauling his bags towards his suite in platforms isn’t an easy feat. John finds himself a little sweaty down his back by the time he’s in front of his door, fumbling for the key card to unlock it. Finally pushing open the heavy door, he’s immediately greeted by a blast of the cool ocean breeze. A quick swing of his wrist tells him that it’s already 5:30 in the evening, and the blue of the sky has almost been completely replaced by a warm orange hue. His suite has a balcony that overlooks the beach, the curtains and doors already open, giving him a splendid view of the sunset.

With an excited grin that he can barely contain, John quickly shuts the door, slips one of the cards in the slot and throws his bags at the leg of the bed. He pulls his camera out from one of his bags and jogs to the balcony, closing his eyes momentarily to enjoy the constant breeze. When he opens his eyes again, the sky has turned warmer and some of the clouds are tinged pink. This is going to be one of the prettiest sunset John will see, he’s sure of it. He holds the camera to his eye to snap a couple pictures of the sky.

John has a special interest in photography. There is something about preserving these precious moments that gives him soft tingles in his bones. As a photographer (he likes to think that he is, given that the camera he has hanging around his neck right now cost almost half of his rent) he gets to capture moments that will last forever, not just in his memories. He will never see a sunset like today’s ever again, and it is that knowledge burning in his mind that urges his finger to press on the shutter more frequently.

The sky is now a beautiful palette of orange and pink, tinging the sea a lovely pinkish hue while it continues to sparkle, even as the sun is slowly winking out. John knows that he’d have to transfer all these to his laptop or he won’t be able to survive this vacation. When the sky has fully darkened, he wobbles back into his room and plops down on the chair in front of the huge dresser table. Through the mirror he can see that his hair is all messed up by the wind and his face covered in a disgusting sheen of oil. He shakes his head with a frown and gets up. He feels sticky all over and desperately needs a shower. He heaves a sigh when he remembers that all his clothes are still in his luggage, untouched. There’s no way he’s touching the clean clothes with dirty hands, so he decides to clean himself before sorting out his clothes.

Stripping off of his button-up and jeans, along with his underwear, he tip-toes into the bathroom and turns on the shower, filling the tub up with hot water. He notes the white towels balanced on metal racks above him with assurance before submerging himself into the warm bath.

Maybe there is something in the water, or it’s just John’s head, but he immediately feels the tension leaving his muscles as he lets out a satisfied sigh that sounds more like a moan to him. With one eye closed, he reaches for the bottle of shampoo beside his head and pours a little onto his head. He lazily lathers the shampoo into his freshly trimmed hair, letting his fingers scrape against his scalp lightly to clean it thoroughly. His chest feels a little cold in the chilly bathroom air, though, so he submerges himself deeper into the tub, bending his knees so much that his ankles are touching his ass, until he’s exposed only from the neck up -- with his arms still lazily working his hair -- and the tips of his knee caps.

After rinsing off the shampoo along with the lukewarm water, he refills the tub with more hot water and starts working on the rest of his body. The glass partition is already fogged up and he feels like he’s enclosed in his own little world, away from the stress and responsibilities that have been tying him down for the past decade or so. A place whether time seems to slow down and he has the luxury to take his time with everything he does; no reprimands from his boss when he makes the tiniest mistakes or the tiniest delays, no snarky remarks and faces from his jealous colleagues, no naggy voice inside of him that is always pushing him forward until he no longer can.

His hands had been working on their own accord while he got lost in his own thoughts, lathering soap onto his body and working the grime off. However, as they near his legs, he becomes painfully aware of how starved of attention he really is. He tries to ignore the gnawing feeling growing in the pit of his stomach and carries on scrubbing himself clean. But when the rough tips of his fingers brush across the tender skin under his navel, he shivers and feels his dick twitch between his legs.

John lets out a dramatic sigh. He traces a tentative finger down his happy trail and feel himself twitch even more, slowly filling out as he continues running his finger up and down. He doesn’t remember the last time he’d given himself attention. Between his tight and busy schedule, he just didn’t have time to give himself a good wank to work the pressure off. When he isn’t busy, he’d be asleep; even if he isn’t tired, he would either be working out at home or out drinking. Even during the rare occasions when he’s at home and hard, the thought of the mountain of work would soften him just as quickly. But things are different now; he’s on vacation, there’s nothing to worry about, and he’s going to enjoy himself.

He’s already half-hard, filling out against the side of his thigh. He bites his bottom lip and gingerly takes himself in his hand, blowing out shallow breaths at the feeling. He starts massaging himself slowly, thumbing the sensitive head and fighting a shudder every now and then. When he’s fully hard, red and stiff against his stomach, he reaches around to squirt some body wash onto his hand.

“I really need to get laid,” he mutters to himself before wrapping his hand around his cock, breathing roughly through his mouth at the sensation. Months of neglect has made him extra sensitive, the cool body wash slipping between his fingers to make his cock even wetter and more slippery. He fists himself and starts pumping, head falling back onto the marble and letting out a long moan. The rings he always forgets to remove before he got them wet doesn’t bother him like he thought they would. On the contrary, it makes things feel so much better as he moves his hand up and down his length, hooded eyes lazily tracking the movement.

John had let some of the water drain moments ago so he can watch better as he wanks himself off. The head of his cock is red and leaking precome over his hand, his other hand reaches down to fondle his balls, a loud gasp escaping his lips and into the steamy bathroom. His balls feel tight between his fingers and he closes his fist even more around his cock, squeezing and pumping himself almost unforgivingly.

The slap of his skin against his own echoes throughout the small space and they sound too loud, along with his own groans and moans. A little part of him is afraid that the other tourists will hear him jacking off, but the voice is lost to the rest of him that has fallen for the pleasure. His right arm is starting to grow tired but he’s so close to the edge that he can’t bring himself to rest.

“Fuck,” he groans, his thumb pressing hard and rubbing his head, coaxing even more precome to leak out of the slit. His cock is so wet and slippery that there are wet squelching noises every time he pumps himself, and each time he hears it it sends him a little further, until he’s dangling right at the edge. “Fuck, oh fuck.”

One last hard squeeze at his head and a tug on his balls and he’s coming.

It is the hardest he’s ever came; he continues to pump his cock through his climax, eyes closed as he groans, come leaking in heavy spurts. He squeezes himself, trying to milk his orgasm until it’s over and he’s left panting in the tub.

His muscles ache, especially in his right arm and stomach from clenching too hard. His cock has started to soften and he lets out a sigh, now feeling impossibly more relaxed. It is then the hunger hits him like a tsunami; a deep ache slicing through his stomach from the inside. Without wasting any more time, he turns on the shower to wash away the mess he made, feeling his cheeks heat up at the sight of his come being washed down the drainage hole. He scrubs himself clean once again before stepping out of the tub, legs a little weak but otherwise feeling more refreshed as ever.

He quickly dries himself up with one of the towels and rummages through his bags for fresh clothes. Buttoning the last of his new yellow beach shirt, he gives himself a glance in the mirror. Other than his slightly flushed cheeks, he’s ready for dinner. Grabbing his essentials, and his camera, he leaves his room. While waiting for the lift to arrive, he fishes his phone from the pocket of his khaki shorts. Should he send a message to his friends or parents? As a single man who lives in his own flat, John really doesn’t have anyone on his back on his whereabouts. But he figures that he should at least tell his parents. Eyeing the lift occasionally, he shoots a quick message to his parents about his little vacation. Before he can regret exposing his location, the lift arrives with a crisp ding and he enters just as his stomach growls. Wanking himself off in the bath really took a lot of energy from him, didn’t it? Though he really couldn't find it in himself to care.

**Author's Note:**

> i've had this idea for quite some time now but never found time or inspiration to write. but i finally did, and i hope you liked the first chapter! i'm not sure how consistent the updates will be, i'll try to put up chapters as i finish them :) also finally, a dealor fic from dealorism, lol!!  
do tell me what you think about this story so far <3


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